Exposure
by ElysianEase
Summary: Matthew Williams made a life for himself in another country to prove to himself that he didn't need anybody, that being alone was just how he liked it. However, that's easier said than done, and lately he's finding the loneliness harder to keep at bay. Used to a life of being second-best, what's a young Canadian to do when famous photographer Francis Bonnefoy comes crashing in?
1. Exposed

_**Exposure**_

Chapter One: Exposed

by

**Elysian Ease**

* * *

What Matthew was doing was crazy.

If he'd ever been noticed in his young life, maybe he would have cared.

Matthew Williams closed his eyes, denying the stars above the brilliance of his violet gaze, and sighed. The lake, chill and placid, cradled the man as he floated in obsidian.

Matthew supposed he should get out. It was getting late, and he had Kuma to think about.

But...these late night swims were Matthew's favorite escape and he was loathe to surrender even a second of it.

Another sigh in the darkness, quiet. Sad.

Going home meant going to sleep. Going to sleep meant waking up. Waking up meant going to work. Being around others. Smiling when he didn't mean it. Choking back his words and pretending each and every second that he was fine and the loneliness wasn't staining his soul with misery.

_God_, was he alone.

_'That's not really true,'_ Matthew tried to reassure himself._ 'I still have Kumachichi.'_

_And a family that never remembers you. Parents that can't be bothered to call more than once or twice a year, and a brother who still can't remember he shares a birthday with you._

Matthew winced, eyes open now. That voice was always in the back of his head, and on nights like this, it was hard to ignore.

Suddenly, the weight in his heart seemed to double and floating leisurely in the moonlight was no longer possible.

Taking a deep breath, Matthew plunged into the water, milk-pale skin disappearing beneath the black. When he resurfaced, he was only feet from the shore, standing waist deep as long, slim fingers attempted to ring out the curly, golden-red strands of his hair.

_All these years and you still dare to feel sorry for yourself._

Another wince, and his hands fell, hanging limply by his sides in the water as those cruel, oh-so-true words entwined themselves firmly in his mind.

_Poor Matthew wants to be noticed. For what? What can you offer? Your bravery? Fun? Strength? That's your brother. Never you._

Even as the tears begin to pour, hot against his skin, Matthew didn't bother to wipe them. Instead, he stared, transfixed, at the water's surface as each drop rippled the surface and was lost.

For some reason, the young man found it calming, as if he could get rid of all his sorrows, at least for a little while, and pour them into the lake.

The relief was short lived. The hairs on the back of Matthew's neck rose. Something _not quite right_ settled in the pit of his stomach and he lifted his head, curtain of hair falling back as he looked towards the shore, consumed with unease.

What he saw made his heart stop, then lurch painfully back to life.

There, only a few feet from the shore was a person.

He sat in the snow, cheek pillowed on a gloved hand that was resting on his knee, looking at Matthew as if watching young men swim in a freezing cold lake at ungodly hours was of no consequence.

Then his eyes connected with Matthew's and he sucked in a small breath.

This man was _gorgeous_.

Long, silky blonde hair swept to the side to reveal a mouth already half smiling, showing a tantalizing peek at perfect, white teeth. Lips thin, yet rosy, above a strong jaw, peppered with golden stubble.

Did he even _dare_ describe those eyes? If someone were to take the color of the sky the instant it was created and then combine it with the intensity of the sun, they would be about halfway there to creating the color of this stranger's, blue and sharp and bright.

But then his beautiful smile fell, and his brows knit together and Matthew realized that he probably noticed the tears on his face. After all, Matthew was rather close to the water's edge.

And that realization made Matthew break out into a cold sweat because _shitshitshit_ there was a stranger, a witness, he was caught, and he suddenly thought of all the _No Trespassing!_ signs he'd ignored every time he came here and_ fuck_ he wouldn't be able to come back and _then_ what would he do—

Before Matthew could open his mouth—to cry, to plead, to beg, whatever it took to keep from going to jail—a growl sounded throughout the night and both of their attention tore from each other to the white mass easing itself out from the forest.

The sunlight made the bear's fur seem to glow, almost blindingly white, the only relief being the smoldering black coals that were the creatures eyes.

And the shining red that dripped from the animal's chin and glistened upon his large, pointed teeth.

_'Mon Dieu,'_ Matthew groaned internally. He knew his pet. And from Kuma's perspective, Matthew was scared, and there was a stranger far too close to him.

The animal lowered its head, ears flattening, and Matthew knew if he didn't do something, his pet was going to kill that beautiful man before he even got a chance to apologize for trespassing.

"No! _Venez!"_ Matthew made his voice firm. The polar bear swiveled it's large head at his master, growls forgotten, before looking back at his target and baring his teeth once more.

**_"Venez!"_**

This time Kuma dropped his protective stance, somehow managing to look reproachful, before loping to the shoreline as his master waded out of the water. The animal growled quietly as he made his way towards Matthew, eyes not blinking as they stared at the strange man, and Matthew swallowed.

This was not helping his case. At all.

Matthew looked towards the stranger and saw that he was perhaps a shade whiter than before, and his crystalline blue eyes were wide in confusion and fear.

Matthew knew that if he didn't get out soon, he'd be in some deep shit. It was one thing to be caught trespassing, but he'd _seen_ Kuma. A bear that wasn't supposed to be anywhere _near_ here.

Lengthening his stride, he emerged form the water just as Kuma stopped before him. Shivering in the cold, he grabbed his pile of discarded clothes and swung himself upon the beast, a fist tightening in the thick white fur.

Matthew looked back at the man, that beautiful, handsome, _breathtaking_ stranger, and saw how he gazed back with undisguised shock, unease, and, strangely enough, curiosity.

Oh, yes, it was most _definitely_ time to get out of here.

Matthew tore his gaze away, soothing his pet with comforting strokes, and leaned down until his mouth was level with Kuma's ear.

_"Aller."_ The animal turned and ran into the forest, and Matthew didn't look back.

* * *

**Translations**

_**Mon Dieu: **_**My God**

**_Venez: _Come  
**

_**Aller:**_** Go**

* * *

**Sooooooo...yeah. Obviously, this is my first story. Well, technically. For this account. I had a mildly successful account on here before (though I've never written anything for Hetalia), but unfortunately, it was compromised, and I had to abandon it. This is the first time I've submitted anything in ages and I'm a bit apprehensive. But that's where you come in! I'm a bit rusty at writing, and I'm hoping this feedback will let me know if I should continue, or scrap this and start again.**

**All right. Well. You know where the review button is. Send me some love, hate, whatever, and let me know what's up.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Disclaimer: Photo obviously not mine.**


	2. Coincidence

_**Exposure**_

Chapter Two: Coincidence

by

**ElysianEase**

* * *

Kumajiro lowered his head to the frigid ground, looking up at his master with large, wet eyes. When that didn't seem to work, the pet made a low whining sound, crossing it's paws.

Against Matthew's will, his mouth twitched into a smile, and he rolled his eyes, tossing the large cod he had in his hands.

Unsurprisingly, Kuma shed his pitiful attitude and stood at his full height, catching the large fish in his mouth easily, tearing into it and eating contentedly.

_'Lecturing is not my strong suit,'_ Matthew thought, squatting and stroking Kuma's large head. He'd spent most of his morning having a stern talking-to with the polar bear, trying to make him understand that other humans were _friends_, not things we growled at with blood dripping from our mouths. Just imagining what could have happened if Kuma had attacked—

Matthew shuddered. He could at least take solace in the fact that Kuma had never harmed a single human being in his life.

Still. Kuma should know better.

"_Non_," he said sternly when the polar bear nudged him for more food, "Consider this your punishment." Matthew stood, brushing the snow off of his pants. Kuma pressed his nose to Matthew's jacket pockets, as if he were holding out on him. He let out a breathless laugh.

"Behave yourself and I'll think about cutting you some slack when I get back from work." With that, he leaned down, gave his pet an affectionate pat on the head, and walked away.

Gripping the bars of the ladder with nearly-frozen, pale fingers, Matthew raised himself out of Kuma's habitat, rubbing his hands together when he reached the top. He glanced back, spotting Kuma retreating to his cave, and smiled.

Like it's own little world, Matthew had spared no expense ensuring his pet had a home that he could thrive in, and the young man couldn't help but feel a certain amount of pride; it had been his design after all. And making sure that it was perfect in every way had smoothed the process for getting the proper clearances and permits to own him in the first place. There wasn't a day when Matthew didn't thank God his native nation of Canada took pity on his poor soul and allowed him the animal.

Of course, the fact that the beast was only half-breed probably had more to do with it.

Matthew shook his head as he trudged back into his home. He didn't want to remember how he acquired his strange pet. That led to memories best left alone. What mattered was what he had now.

When the Canadian was back inside the warmth of his house, he didn't bother removing his coat; just chugged the rest of his coffee, swiped his keys off the counter, and left.

He climbed into his car, giving it a moment to warm up (No, it wasn't pretty, in fact there weren't many Subaru Legacy's that were, but it was cheap).

By the time he pulled out of his driveway and set off towards the city, the sun was only just painting the sky in soft yellow and orange.

Matthew lived a good half-hour from Toronto and, despite trying to distract himself with the radio or tapping a beat on his steering wheel, his thoughts kept turning to a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed stranger.

All night he kept playing the scene again and again in his head. Wishing there was some way it could have gone differently. In a world where Matthew was important, significant even, the stranger couldn't have cared less that he was trespassing. In that amazing, impossible world, that handsome man would have said, _I'm sorry, I just couldn't take my eyes off you. Can I see you again?_

Matthew groaned, rolling his violet eyes behind his rectangular spectacles. Sometimes he could be such a girl, daydreaming like that! Thinking like that was foolish.

Besides, it was in the past now.

* * *

"Ah, yes, Marco, there you are. You're on cleaning duty." Mr. Edelstein barely raised his eyes from his clipboard as he made his rounds through his large restaurant, light eyes flashing behind their frames. Matthew didn't bat an eye at the fact that his manager called him the wrong name. _Again_. He was used to it. No one ever remembered.

Broom in hand, the Canadian made short work of sweeping the front and back of Bach to Basics, ducking under arms that were carrying trays and dishes and stepping to the side as co-workers made sure the establishment was nothing short of immaculate under the watchful gaze of their Austrian employer.

"_Mátyás_!" Matthew turned to see Elizabeta, the bartender and co-founder, heading towards him, a worried expression on her usually happy face. Even from across the room, her lilting Hungarian accent let her make herself known without effort. Matthew envied her. "I am so sorry," she began when she got closer, grabbing his hand and looking up at him with a pleading expression, "But Jonah can not come into work today, and we are short one cook. It would mean the world to Mr. Roderich and I if you would step in."

This was awkward. Surprised and completely off-guard, Matthew stalled, scratching the back of his head.

"Are—are you sure there's nobody else?" It wasn't that Matthew was a bad cook—far from it—but he knew his boss, and the possibility of being fired for a single mistake was very real.

"Compared to the others, there is no one else with enough skills. Won't you?" Large green eyes bore into Matthew's, her hands clasped tightly together as she leaned close. Her lips pulled into a pout.

Matthew was no match. With no shortness of dread, he nodded reluctantly.

"As long as it's just the simple orders—"

"Oh, _kiváló_!" Elizabeta cried, throwing her arms around Matthew. The Canadian flushed, embarrassed. "There isn't any time to lose! We open in ten minutes!"

Before Matthew could ask how exactly he was supposed to prepare in such a short time (and maybe take it all back), the older woman was already hauling him through the double doors in the back to the kitchens.

* * *

"Martin! Table five is nearly ready for their _orange_-_cardamom_ _madeleines_, are they ready?" Mr. Edelstein demanded, holding open the swinging door with one hand, looking between the Canadian and the aforementioned customers.

Matthew grabbed a porcelain plate, quickly placing the glazed cookies on it's surface while muttering under his breath.

_"Oh yes, Mátyás, only the simple dishes!"_ he murmured in a poor attempt at his manager's Hungarian accent. _"It will be a breeze!"_

"Martin!" the Austrian barked out, clearly losing his patience. Heart stopping, Matthew spun, barely avoiding a collision with another cook, and practically sprinted to where his boss stood.

Thankfully, Mr. Edelstein said no more, simply glanced over the food and nodded at Matthew, his dark, flyaway cow-lick bobbing before he swept out of the door.

The moment he left Matthew visibly sagged, sighing. He definitely never wanted to work in the kitchen again. All those orders and the constant rush and heat were just too much for his delicate heart and sensitive ears. He needed quiet, and almost looked forward to returning to his busboy duties.

"I can't believe the boss is serving the food himself," he overheard one of the cooks saying. Matthew perked up in interest.

"Yeah," agreed another, leaning over a plate to drizzle dark sauce over it, "Must be someone important."

Since Matthew had started working at Bach to Basics, he could count on one hand how many times his manager delivered food to a customer. Maybe he could just poke his head out for a moment, just to see...

"New orders for tables eleven, nine, and eight!" Maybe not.

Hardly ten minutes later Mr. Edelstein was back, once again calling out Matthew's name. Well, Martin's, but the younger man knew who he meant.

Flinching, Matthew set his stirring spoon to the side of the pot, wiping his hands on his apron as he approached his boss.

_"O-Oui?"_ Mr. Edelstein sniffed at Matthew's appearance and stepped closer, tugging straight his collar, tucking in his shirt, even brushing back his hair, all while muttering, "This won't do, this simply won't do."

Alarmed and flustered, Matthew took a step back, raising his palms.

"Um, sir?"

Rolling his eyes, Mr. Edelstein straightened and cleared his throat, gaze sharp as ever as he looked at the blushing cook.

"The customer at table five wishes to meet the chef. Apparently, those cookies you made were spot-on, reminded him of home."

Matthew blinked. Oh. "...Really?" At his manager's nod, he couldn't help but flush with pleasure. "It wasn't anything special."

"Be that as it may," Ah, Mr. Edelstein. Blunt as always. "He thinks otherwise."

"Who is he?" Matthew asked, curious. Mr. Edelstein pointed out the circle-shaped window in the swinging door.

"See for yourself." Was Matthew just imagining things, or was there a bit of excitement tainting his employers usually droll tone?

Pressing his fingertips to the smooth surface of the door, Matthew gazed out at the busy dining room, seeing families and couples and businessmen all laughing and talking and generally stuffing their faces.

_'Table five, table five,'_ he mused, scanning the room. Of course, table five was towards the back, common for customers who came alone. It had a great window view of the street, good accessibility to the bar, and currently seated a gorgeous man. One with long, blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. Eyes the young Canadian had never planned on seeing again.

_'Oh, no. No. No, no, no, no, no,'_ Matthew realized he was shaking his head even as he backed away. Mr. Edelstein was watching him, a frown on his face.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Go greet him."

"I-uh-well-" The excuse_ 'look at the time!'_ went through the Canadian's head. He looked to the clock and could have kissed it. Matthew pointed at it, glad his hand wasn't shaking. "It's nearly six o'clock," he said, making an effort to keep his voice steady. "I would, but, uh, I have a, uh, sick aunt I need to take care of. It's _really_ important I'm not even a single second late."

Mr. Edelstein's frown deepened. "That is very impolite, Marcus, and you _will_ show him the _proper_ manners expected of one of _my_ employees-"

"What could little _Mátyás_ have done to deserve your scolding, dear?" Elizabeta kissed her husband on the cheek, effectively silencing him as a blush appeared on his features. Matthew had never been more thankful to see her in his life.

After clearing his throat, Mr. Edelstein found his voice. "Marvin is refusing to let our special guest at table five thank him for his meal, and I was just refreshing his memory on how manners are the driving force of this establishment and how I _will not_ tolerate-"

"Oh, hush," Elizabeta interrupted, tucking a long strand of chocolate hair behind her ear. "The poor dear is shy enough as it is, he is probably nervous. Besides," she gave a significant look at the clock, "It is beyond time for him to head home, is it not? You must remember, he was here before we opened and has been covering for Jonah all evening." She winked at Matthew, and he gave her a relieved smile in response.

Mr. Edelstein grumbled something under his breath before he sighed. He glared at both his wife and the Canadian. "_Fine_. I will inform our guest that you stepped out. Now clean your station and get out of my sight."

"Yessir!" Grateful, Matthew hurried back to his place, heart thumping as he put dishes in the sink and wiped everything down.

Someone up there clearly thought Matthew's life just wasn't complicated enough. What were the odds? And who was this man? Even in his panicked state, Matthew was able to pick up on the way his employers seemed to treat him with a certain esteem. Was Matthew in even deeper trouble than he'd thought?

One thing was for sure, he needed to get the _hell_ out of there.

Moments later, Matthew was shrugging on his coat and shutting his locker. Just as he was leaving the small locker room, he paused, hand hovering over the door handle.

For all he knew, as soon as he left, he'd never see the stranger again.

_(Isn't that what you wanted?)_

This time, if Matthew wished, he could look at him for just a bit longer, just enough to satisfy him.

What could one little peek hurt?

Walking through the kitchen, Matthew kept his head down until he reached the double doors. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly opened them.

He was gone.

A strange mixture of relief and disappointment consumed him for a moment before he collected himself and stepped through. What was wrong with him?

_'I need to clear my head.'_

Thinking to splash his face with cold water, if for no other reason than to relieve his feverish skin of the constant heat of the kitchen, Matthew headed towards the bathroom. He smiled and inclined his head when one, two of his co-workers saw him, but didn't stop to chat.

As he walked down the hallway to the men's room, he took off his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose. After a day like today, he would definitely rest well.

Matthew placed his palm on the cool metal of the door knob, stepping inside as he pushed his glasses back onto his face. The moment the door clicked shut behind him and his gaze focused, he felt the color drain from his face.

Because, looking from the wall to the door with mild curiosity was that man. So incredibly handsome it was painful. And he looked back at Matthew, his conversation on the phone quite forgotten.

Matthew watched, stunned, as those lips slowly stretched into a grin the Canadian could only describe as predatory, and he shivered.

"I'm sorry," the stranger said into the phone, eyes hooded, his voice low and sultry, "But I will have to call you back."

* * *

**Translations**

**_Mátyás: _Matthew in Hungarian**

**_kiváló: _excellent**

* * *

**Wow. This chapter is double the last one! And you still had to read alllll the way to the end to get to the good part! Sorrynotsorry. Also, sorry in advance to any Canada natives! I really don't know what I'm talking about and I'm improvising this as I go. Apology shout out to Hungarians as well in case I'm butchering your language! Next chapter will have more romance, promise. Reviews?**

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Encounter

_**Exposure**_

Chapter Three: Encounter

by

**Elysian** **Ease**

* * *

_Shitfuckgoddamnsonofabitch_—Matthew couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and felt himself inexplicably pinned by those blue, blue eyes.

Of course he would be in the bathroom, _of_ _course_. Panic set in and Matthew realized that he was actually scared of this strange man.

And Matthew didn't handle fear very well.

Matthew spun, grasping the door handle. He started to pull it open so he could get _the hell out of there-_

When it suddenly slammed shut and a bare forearm was suddenly inches from his face. He froze, and the Canadian didn't dare breathe. He could feel the other man's body heat against his back, and it only intensified when he tried to lean away. The stranger's other hand moved to the other side of Matthew's head, effectively trapping him.

The stranger chuckled behind him, the sound mischievous. "Like a scared little rabbit," he mused. Matthew detected the French accent and found it oddly fitting. And sexy. The thought flew from his head when he felt a hot breath ghosting over his ear. "I won't be letting you get away again, _petit lapin_."

Matthew shivered and his eyes screwed shut, feeling things he didn't understand and gripped by a fear stronger than ever before.

_"D-désolé!"_ The word flew from his mouth before he could stop it, a knee-jerk reaction from all the times he'd found himself in an uncomfortable situation. "I'm sorry, I—I know you're probably very angry, and I'm not going to make any excuses, but I really am sorry about the other night, and…" He trailed off, opening his eyes when he realized the Frenchman had moved away, and he sighed in relief.

_Click._

Matthew looked dumbly between the now-locked door and the blond man until it became obvious that no, he didn't do it on accident, no, the stranger was _not_ going to reach over and unlock it again with an apology, and yes, he was, indeed, stepping closer.

_'Oh, God,'_ he thought, shrinking away. He knew he looked as scared as he felt, but he couldn't help it; he had never been much of a fighter and now he was trapped in a room with an older man that he'd managed to piss off with no one he could call for help, provided they'd even remember who he was if he _did_.

Matthew's eyes darted back and forth, noting the lack of alternate escapes with dismay. The only way out was through the door and that was where _he_ was and there was no way Matthew was going to walk _towards_ him. The older man approached Matthew with an amused expression, and the Canadian felt himself flush slightly in indignation; he was being made fun of, he could tell, and he didn't appreciate it.

When the Frenchman was within arms reach, Matthew swallowed, looking up into his eyes with his best '_please don't beat the shit out of me_' expression.

He saw the older man raise his hand and actually felt his pupils dilating. But when the stranger simply grasped Matthew's hand, he froze.

Keeping his appendage captive, the man bent at the waist, bowing, with a smile on his face.

"There is no need to fret, _cher_. I merely wanted to, ah" he waved a hand in the air, as if searching for the right words, "make your acquaintance without any...distractions, no?" Matthew must have been imagining things, because there was no way the word 'distractions' could sound so seductive. "I am Francis." He straightened, raising Matthew's knuckles to his lips. The Canadian's heart stuttered at the warm feel of him. His blue eyes flashed to Matthews face. "And you are…?"

Matthew blushed furiously, trying to focus on the man's—_Francis's—_words and not those lovely lips. Francis wanted to know his name, he remembered. Name? He had one? The Frenchman arched a brow, clearly waiting, and Matthew's blush intensified.

"Um, Matthew?" Smooth. Francis grinned, brushing his lips against Matthew's hand once more.

_"Mathieu,"_ he tried the name out, breath hot against Matthew's skin. The younger man shivered once more, and Francis's smile grew.

This. Was so weird. Matthew couldn't grasp what was happening, and he desperately wished the older man would either hit him or let him go.

"U-um," Matthew felt increasingly self-conscious and wished Francis would release his hand and maybe take sixty—no, seventy steps back so he could gather his thoughts and start acting more like himself again.

At seeing how lost Matthew looked, the Frenchman looked less predatory and more curious. "Are you always so quiet?"

_'I am when you keep moving your fingers like that,'_ Matthew thought tersely as Francis languidly caressed his knuckles with his thumb. He wished he would stop, it was so distracting.

"Are—are you going to take me to jail?" Matthew was fed up with being confused and wanted a straight answer.

Francis didn't seem to know what to say to that at first, and Matthew was relieved when his thumb stopped moving against his skin. His blue eyes were wide, and his face took on an incredulous look.

"_Jail?_ Of course not!"

Matthew's shoulders visibly sagged. "Oh thank God," he breathed. When he met Francis's eyes again, he found him once again looking at the Canadian with amusement. Matthew flushed, but offered a shy smile in return. "Thanks," he all but whispered.

Francis blinked, clearly surprised. Then, he smiled a smile so devious Matthew felt his fear returning and his own smile was quite forgotten.

"I think I've let you off too lightly, _Mathieu_," Francis said, mirth in his gaze.

_'Oh no.'_

"I won't tell anyone about your little pet on one condition," he raised a finger, looking very much like a man who was about to get what he wanted. "You allow me to photograph you."

Confusion...among other things caused him to simply stare. Francis took a step forward and Matthew took a step back reflexively, feeling the wall meet him.

"Wh—what do you mean?" he asked nervously, hoping to distract him. He cursed silently when he took another step, the Frenchman's feet on either side of his own.

"I simply need a model for an upcoming project of mine," his voice was persuasive, imploring.

"I—" Don't understand. Don't want to. Want you to go away. Want you to stay. "Why me?" he asked, perplexed.

Francis smirked as if he had been waiting for him to ask that. God, why was his face so close to his?

"I want to capture the color of this gorgeous hair," he said lowly, running his fingers through Matthew's hair. The touch made Matthew still, and he looked up, shocked by the tender motion.

"This smooth, beautiful skin," he continued, his palm cupping Matthew's cheeks, thumb stroking. Beneath his finger, the younger man flushed. "These eyes, such a breathtaking color," he murmured, looking into Matthew's violet gaze. Matthew looked back, unprepared for the desire that met him. His heart raced and breathing became an effort. Francis eyes fell from Matthew's to his mouth. He caressed the soft, pink skin. "Your lips…" Francis leaned forward, eyes hooded.

_'Oh, God. OhGodohGodoh**God**.'_

Despite his panic, Matthew found his eyes sliding shut, tilting his head up ever so slightly…

The sound of someone pounding against the locked door nearly made Matthew scream, and he realized what position he was in, locked in the bathroom at his work about to kiss a man he barely knew.

Blushing, Matthew gently pushed away from Francis and gave himself much needed space, trying to calm his heart. What was he thinking?

With an annoyed expression, Francis looked at the door. _"Imbécile."_ The knocking persisted and as the older man grabbed his coat off the counter Francis called back, "One moment, _mon ami_."

Matthew sighed, eyes sliding shut in relief. Everything was okay now. Francis would leave—_ignore sudden pain in chest_—and his life would go back to making sense.

An iron grip suddenly closed around his wrist and brought it sharply upward, and this time Matthew did let out a sound that was definitely _not_ a squeal.

"What are you—?" Francis had managed to materialize a marker, and was scrawling something on Matthew's palm.

"There we go," Francis sounded satisfied as he capped the marker. He blew on his markings to dry the ink, looking up at the Canadian as he did so. Matthew flushed. When Francis finally released him, he looked at his hand. Ten numbers stared back at him.

"You will take this," he curled Matthew's hand into a fist, as if to prevent him from losing the numbers, "and you will call me tomorrow. You are free?" Matthew nodded, too confused and way too out of his element to even consider lying. "Ah, _magnifique_!" He stepped back and shrugged on his coat, smiling cheerfully even as he walked away. Hand closed around the door handle, he looked back at Matthew. _"Au revoir, Mathieu."_ Then, with a parting wink, he was gone.

As a few men shuffled in, tossing Matthew expressions of varying degrees of annoyance, he turned around, facing the large mirror above the sinks. Seeing his own flushed face looking back, Matthew braced his palms on the porcelain sink, hanging his head and taking deep breaths. When he raised his head, he looked into his own violet eyes, searching desperately for his common sense.

What. The fuck. Just happened.

* * *

"...And see? He wrote his number on _my hand_. Crazy, right?" Kuma nudged his palm with a cold, wet nose, and Matthew smiled, leaning back against his pet. Usually, Kuma wasn't so content to be a piece of furniture, but perhaps he sensed his owner's tense mood and allowed the support.

And he'd just been fed, so there was that.

"I just—Kumakiku, he tried to _kiss me_." The very thought was so wrong to Matthew. He just didn't _do_ romantic stuff. With good reason.

His eyes were stinging behind his frames, and the knowledge irked him. Why was he such a crybaby? Kuma's large head raised from its position on the ground, watching Matthew.

"I—I think I might have even wanted to kiss him back," he whispered, ashamed. "This is bad, Kumachi, really bad."

It would help so much if Matthew didn't actually _like_ Francis. Then he would find his confidence annoying rather than attractive. And his accent would be obnoxious instead of sexy. He certainly wouldn't have the urge to run his hands over those muscled arms, those long legs. And he wouldn't shiver every time he pictured those blue eyes so close, hooded with less-than-innocent intentions—

Matthew groaned, slumping against Kuma. Barely twenty minutes with the guy and he already had it bad.

The support behind Matthew was gone suddenly and with a yelp, he found himself lying on the cold ground. Kuma lowered his head, nuzzling Matthew's face before he began to lick his cheeks.

"Kuma—Kumakichi, all right! All right! Stop—my glasses! Agh! Okay, okay, no more sad talk, I'm fine, I'm fine!" Matthew sputtered, laughing. The polar bear paused, head tilted slightly in confusion.

The sight caused a breathless laugh to escape Matthew's lips, and he sat up, wrapping his arms around his pet's large head, snuggling his face against the crown of Kuma's head.

"You're right, Kumanino. Nothing I can't handle, right?" He smiled, calm once more.

_With that kind of confidence, it'd be easy to mistake you for your brother._

The smile disappeared.

* * *

**Translations**

**_petit lapin: _little rabbit**

**_désolé: _sorry**

**_au revoir:_ ****goodbye**

* * *

**And there it is! This chapter ended up being much longer than I intended, and what was supposed to be a simple encounter in a bathroom turned into a few pages of a teasing Frenchman trying to seduce a poor, innocent little Canadian. Ah, well. Tell me what you think, reviews are the lifeblood of the story!**

**P.S.—I'm going to stop with the translations, and focus on translating just the things I feel like people wouldn't know.**

**Thanks so much for reading!**


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